Stay
by Avonannie
Summary: The Beast just wants Belle to stay, to delight in the apple blossom blush of her cheeks. But he is a monster and cannot keep her. Belle doesn't really want to leave. It is safe and warm in the castle. The Beast, she is learning, is more man than monster, more Prince than Beast. Rated T for now, but deliciously T.
1. Chapter 1

"THAT HURTS!" The Beast roared.

"If you'd hold still, it wouldn't hurt as much!" Belle countered, obstinately refusing to be cowed. The Beast blinked. He wasn't used to be spoken to like that. Like a person. Like a man. Like an…equal. But still. She was wrong!

"Well," he grasped for an argument furiously. "If you hadn't run away, none of this would have happened!" There! The blame was hers! She held her ground, and pushed him less gently to face away from her so she could continue to tend the wound on his back.

"If you hadn't frightened me," she answered, tone as hard and furious as his, "I wouldn't have run away!"

"Well, you shouldn't have been in the west wing!" He retorted!

"Well, you should learn to control your temper!" The Beast was stunned. Could she not see that he was a beast? An animal? A monster? Monsters don't control their tempers! Princes don't bow to peasants! He was speechless. He could hear her muttering to the servants as she stalked from the room. His mind was in turmoil. In all his life, no one had ever spoken to him like that. Not as a boy, not as a prince, not as a beast. No one… except his mother. Sometimes. He closed his eyes and tried very hard not to think of …her.

But that was a mistake. The jasmine and honey scent of Belle surrounded him. It was on his pillows and sheets. Pillows and sheets?! He didn't sleep on pillows and sheets! He was a beast! A monster! He slept on straw and rags by the fire. It surrounded him, touched him, soothed him. He wanted to reach for her, to call her back. To ask her… to beg her to stay.


	2. Chapter 2

The Beast lay on the soft pillow, clothed in a soft shirt and breeches, covered in a soft sheet and warm blanket. Belle had returned to check on him. He woke to the soft, warm scent of her in the room. His animal senses had picked up on her the moment she opened the door. No one else smelled like that. No one in the castle. No one in the world. But he lay still, with his eyes closed, hoping, praying she would come nearer. And she did.

He felt the edge of the bed dip with the weight of her, felt the soft warmth of her hand brush the edges of his broad animal face. And then the warmth was gone. His eyes opened. Fearful that she would leave, he caught her hand as she was turning.

"Stay," he whispered. Belle gave a little start and an "oh!" of surprise.

"You're awake."

"I am," He said simply.

"I'm so sorry to wake you," she said quietly, her cheeks beginning to stain the most delicious shade of pink. Like apple blossoms in spring. Apple blossoms? He wondered at himself. It had been winter here for so long. How he longed to see apple blossoms again. But her cheeks would do. Could he touch them without frightening her away? Better not! He reasoned against it. But would she stay, he wondered. Would she stay if he asked her to?

"You didn't," he answered. "I was waking up slowly." He paused, uneager to let her go and suddenly aware that she was not pulling away from him. "Would you…" he licked his lips and looked away, out the window at the mid-morning sun. "Would you sit with me a while?" He asked. He looked back at her then and saw the apple blossoms had bloomed brighter, brilliantly blushing her cheeks in the most delightful hue. He could hear her pulse and smell the honey and jasmine scent of her, the delicious fragrance of soap and nature and just Belle. He wanted to loose his hand from her grasp and reach up to tangle his fingers in her hair. But his fingers were not the fingers of a man. They were thick and clawed. Ugly reminders of who he was - what he was - and the stain upon his soul. A stain he would not inflict upon her.

So he blinked with surprise when she ducked her head and pulled a book from her apron pocket. Apron? He wondered. Did she not know that she was to be a princess here in his castle? Mistress of all she saw? Servants wore aprons! Peasants wore aprons! She did not need aprons!

"Shall I read to you?" She asked. He nodded gruffly as she pulled her other hand free and moved to a chair nearby. Cursed chair, he thought bitterly. Come near me, his mind pleaded. Curl next to me. Make me warm! Make me human! Let me feel! But he merely closed his eyes and imagined himself a man as she read to him.

Romeo and Juliet! BAH!


	3. Chapter 3

The Beast tolerated Romeo and Juliet for two days, until he could bear no more. And until he could move. Expressing his displeasure, he was amused to find Belle's dismay evident. Did she not know the wonders of literature beyond Shakespeare? As they spoke of literature, his heart alighted on one plan that was sure to steal her heart.

"Belle, I think I feel well enough to get up this morning. Would you give me a moment to change?" He asked. Belle smiled as Mrs Potts came wheeling in. "I need only a moment." He paused. "Wait for me."

Belle gave him a funny little look, and the Beast felt suddenly foolish. Of course she would wait for him. She was trapped here, wasn't she? Would she leave while he donned proper clothing?

Proper clothing?! Did he even own proper clothing? How long had it been since he had dressed properly? Like a man? Like a prince?

"It may take longer than a moment, in truth. I…" He hesitated as he sat up. His eyes met hers and he realized her cheeks were stained pink again. Pink like apple blossoms. Pink like delicate roses. Oh, mighty heavens, could he touch those cheeks? What must she think of him? An animal pretending to be a man! Suddenly she was in front of him, one delicate hand on his cheek.

"Are you well?" There was nothing in her face now but concern. "Perhaps you should lay back down?" He reached up and took her hand in his much, much larger one.

"No," he owned. "I just..." He paused long, and Belle looked down to meet his eyes with curiosity and concern. "I can't remember where I put the rest of my clothes."

Belle laughed then, and the sound of it was light, like chimes on a breeze.

"Well, if that is all, I shall go and leave you to find your clothes, sir, and meet you… shall we say a week tomorrow?" Her eyes twinkled with laughter, but the joke stung slightly.

"No, 20 minutes should suffice." He still held her hand where she had placed in on her face, and he longed to kiss the palm of it. But he shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. And she would never let him. She might make him feel like a man again, but the sight of her delicate peach skin against his furred, clawed paw starkly reminded him that he was no such thing. And she would not love him. Not like that.

Good girls did not love Beasts. Did not marry monsters. Did not lay with such as him.

Eventually, he knew, he would have to let her go. He would have to own that she was free.

When the last petal fell, and all the castle crumbled? Did he have the strength to let her go before then?


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Chapters 4 and 5 come from Belle's perspective, after which I will be returning to The Beast's perspective. I've deliberately not referred to him as "The Beast" in Belle's chapters, as it's clear she doesn't see him as a monster or an animal, but as a man under a curse/enchantment. In The Beast's chapters, he will go back to being referred to as a Beast, as that's how he sees himself - at least until the end._

 _All these events are taking place during the "Something more" song montage, which actually takes place over several months in the story. The movie makes it seem like a lot less time._

* * *

Belle followed the Master of the castle. He hadn't told her where they were going or what he had planned, but something had him unexpectedly…less gruff this morning. He paused at a large set of double doors, painted white and trimmed with gold. He smirked in his charming way as he pushed them open.

"There is so much more to reading than Shakespeare!" He declared, as he led her into the enormous, sun-filled room. Belle's heart stopped. The room was stories high, with stairs and ladders, and bookshelves that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. It was heart-stoppingly, breath-takingly beautiful.

"It's beautiful!" She breathed, turning in circles to take in the glory of the library. She caught his pleased look from the corner of her eye.

"If you like it that much, it's yours!" He declared! "It is my gift to you." Belle's heart stopped beating for a moment. What a gift! All the jewels in all the world could never compare.

"Have you read them all?" She questioned in wonder. The Master turned back, with his charming, self-deprecating half-smirk on his face.

"Not all of them," he shrugged, as he turned away. "Some of them are in Greek." Belle's eyes widened in amusement and amazement. Was he joking?

"Are you joking?" She demanded. "Are you making jokes now?" He had walked away and she chased after him into another room, similarly filled with books. He had pulled some from a shelf as he gazed at her with… tenderness? Belle wondered if she had that right.

He was truly more man than beast. She saw it in his eyes. She saw it in the curve of his lips, the shrug of his shoulders. She saw it in his proud stance and bearing. He was more than animal. In his heart, he was more. So very much more! How she longed to know more about the enchantment that had imprisoned this man, this castle, and all the dear friends within. For they were friends now, the servants who cared for her daily. She cared for them. And, she began to realize, she cared about Him! The Beast. No… the Master. The Lord of the castle. The Prince?

Could she find a way to untangle the enchantment? Was there a way for her to stay?


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: The Beast is still The Beast, though Belle is referring to him as The Prince, as that's who he really is. Just wanted to avoid confusion._  
 _Astrophil and Stella is a series of English sonnets composed in the late 1500s by Sir Phillip Sidney. If you're not an English major, don't worry about it. You don't need to know who he is, just that the poetry is lovely and romantic. French poetry will be coming soon. Once again, you won't need to know anything about it. Just that it's sweet and romantic and lovely and mushy and gushy, etc._

* * *

Belle read out loud as she walked along the bridge, over a snow covered lake, with the Prince by her side. She paused as she felt his blue eyes watching her. It made her feel warm and uncertain all at once. It was unnerving, and more than a bit alarming, these feelings that had begun to warm in her soul.

He was more human than not. He walked with her, spoke with her, challenged her, ate with her, cared for her, fought with her, laughed with her, read with her, read to her. It was strange to realize that he was truly everything she had ever wanted. Except human. Sometimes she could forget that, when they stood side by each, staring out at the frozen lake. She could forget that when his blue eyes met hers, and she could feel the warm blush creep into her cheeks.

But when she took his large paw and taught him how to handle Phillippe, she was reminded again, as his dark fur contrasted against her pale skin. But they could be friends. There were no rules against that. She watched him gently handle the horse, more man again than monster, and playfully tossed a snowball at him.

Later, curled up in the armchair by the fire, nursing the goose-egg from his much larger return snowball, Belle marvelled again at how very much not like a prisoner she felt. How safe. How warm. She gazed at the massive back of her Prince and felt a sudden longing to be beside him, not in the chair, but on the rug by the fire. Could she? Would he let her? She felt a flutter of warmth low in her stomach.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked for nearly the hundredth time. Belle sighed and rolled her eyes.

"No!" She smirked. "But I'll hurt you if you ask me that again!" She heard his startled grunt and before she could think better of it, she moved beside him and laid her hand against his large, warm arm. "You could make it up to me, though." She smiled at him, and handed him a book.

He took it from her and gazed blankly down at her. "You can read." She stated. It wasn't a request or a demand. It was simply a statement of what would happen now. Belle felt his uncertainty. It rippled off him like waves, crashing into her like she was the beach and he was the ocean. But she moved forward anyway. There was a way through this tangled mess of enchantment, and sitting cowed and afraid would break nothing, would fix nothing. He was more man than monster, more Prince than Beast. She was sure the way through was for him to see it too, was for him to accept it.

His low voice began to rumble deep and soothing, as the lines of poetry fell from his lips.

 _Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,_  
 _That she (dear She) might take some pleasure of my pain:_  
 _Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,_  
 _Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,_

 _I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe,_

 _Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain:_  
 _Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow_  
 _Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burned brain._

 _But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay,_

 _Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows,_  
 _And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my way._  
 _Thus great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,_

 _Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite,_

 _'Fool' said my Muse to me, 'look in thy heart and write.'_

"I see we have moved past Shakespeare," he quipped. "Astrophil and Stella. Much better."

"You were quite right," Belle answered sleepily. "There is much more in literature than Shakespeare." In truth, her heart clenched tight hearing these words in the deep low rumble of her Prince's voice. She hadn't looked at the book she had grabbed from her bedchamber before meeting him. This was much more romantic than Romeo and Juliet. Much deeper. More intimate than she had foreseen. And here she sat, curled against him, not as a friend but a lover. And she didn't want to move. She wanted to bury her face in his mane and breathe the deep and musky fragrance of him. She wanted to run her hands through his long braid and… her stomach tightened again as she realized she wanted to kiss him. But she sat still and silent and closed her eyes and listened to him.

Truly, she reasoned, more man than monster. More friend than foe. More dear to her than anyone she'd known. When at first she had wanted nothing more than to run, she longed now to stay here. Stay by the fire, stay with her Prince. Stay and hear and feel his deep rumbling voice as he read lines of poetry in a cadence that could melt butter.

 _Come Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace,_  
 _The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe,_  
 _The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release,_  
 _Th' indifferent judge between the high and low._  
 _With shield of proof shield me from out the prease_  
 _Of those fierce darts despair at me doth throw:_  
 _O make in me those civil wars to cease;_  
 _I will good tribute pay, if thou do so._  
 _Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed,_  
 _A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light,_  
 _A rosy garland and a weary head:_  
 _And if these things, as being thine by right,_  
 _Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me,_  
 _Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see._

It was some time later that Belle felt herself moving, weightless, as though in a dream. She realized vaguely that she was being carried, and then with dreamy comfort, recognized the arms of her Prince as he moved her to her bedchambers.

She hadn't wanted to leave the fireplace. Hadn't wanted to leave the comfort of his arms or the soothing rumble of his voice.

She felt the cool sheets tuck around her and instantly missed the warmth of his arms. Reaching out to grab his hand before he let her go completely, she opened her eyes and met his. Met those deep, beautiful blue eyes. Like pools of clear water on a summer day. Blue like the sky.

"Good night, Belle," He rumbled. His hand slipped from hers and he moved away. Her words caught in her throat. She wanted him to stay. Wanted it like she wanted the sun on her face. Wanted it like adventure and life and joy. But he loved her too much. She knew it. And she was growing alarmed at her ever-increasing affection for him. It wasn't fair of her to want him to stay. And so she said nothing as he slipped from the room.


	6. Chapter 6

The Beast watched as his dear Belle slept sweetly, the soft glow of the fire casting shadows across her face.

She stirred as he laid her on her sheets, and his heart hammered against his broad chest as she reached for his hand. For a moment he thought she might ask him to stay. But he knew better. Her eyes made him pause and his heart stop. Rich, brown, like the warm earth in spring. Brown, like her hair. Warm and full of love and joy and life. He would give anything for his Beauty. He would give anything for his peasant Princess who had stolen his melancholy heart.

She was free. Did he have the courage to tell her so? Would she run if he did? Would she leave him if he left the door open? Or would she stay? Mighty heavens and saints and angels he wanted her to stay! To love past his ugly façade, past the stains and scars and animal face that marred him. To see the man beneath the mask.

He slipped his hand from hers and left quietly, stealing silently along the halls to the west wing, where the changes in his soul had begun. He'd felt such fear when he saw her looking at the rose. One touch and he would be stuck like this forever. Or so he had assumed, anyway. He had always blamed the Enchantress for his fate – assumed he had been punished for the act of refusing her rose. He saw now that it was so much more than that. He had humiliated a pauper for his own position and pleasure. Cast her down to make himself higher. He had turned her away into the dark and the cold when he could have easily spared her a room and a meal. Kindness was greater than power, and humility more powerful than might. He was beginning to see that now. He felt it in every touch of Belle's warm hand. She was greater than Cleopatra, stronger than Boudicca, more powerful than Nefertiti. And he wondered briefly how much she knew of these women. She should know of these women, with whose spirits she held so much in common.

His mind wandered then, as he thought of the richness of her spirit, to the richness of her curves, the lush fullness of her lips. He wondered how it was that no man had ever claimed her. He smiled at his own wondering. She was a woman who would not be claimed! She had claimed him, though, heart and soul!


	7. Chapter 7

With her permission, The Beast had decided to expand Belle's education. He was done with the English! She loved to learn. He would gift her with his expensive education. There was much greatness in the French. Then on to Latin. And perhaps they could learn Greek together. Aristotle and Socrates, mathematics, science, history.

Tout l'Univers obéit à l'Amour ;  
Belle Psyché, soumettez-lui votre âme.  
Les autres dieux à ce dieu font la cour,  
Et leur pouvoir est moins doux que sa flamme.  
Des jeunes coeurs c'est le suprême bien  
Aimez, aimez ; tout le reste n'est rien.

Sans cet Amour, tant d'objets ravissants,  
Lambris dorés, bois, jardins, et fontaines,  
N'ont point d'appâts qui ne soient languissants,  
Et leurs plaisirs sont moins doux que ses peines.  
Des jeunes coeurs c'est le suprême bien  
Aimez, aimez ; tout le reste n'est rien.

Belle smiled up at him from across the breakfast table.

"That's lovely! I've not heard that one!" She declared.

"Poetry originated with the French," he teased, placing the book down. "That is Jean de la Fontaine. Les Amours de Psyche. We need to expand your education beyond the English. There is much else to be learned. Perhaps I could teach you Latin?" Belle's eyes positively glowed with delight, and The Beast thrilled in her exuberance. He shrugged self-depricatingly. "Someone may as well get some enjoyment out of all that money my father spent."

The next weeks were spent in the library. They moved past poetry to math and science – subjects with which Belle was already well acquainted. Her thirst for knowledge thrilled and inspired The Beast. He edged closer to her as he reclaimed lost knowledge and found a hunger in lessons he'd found dull and tedious as a self-involved youth.

With every brush of her hand against his, he quivered inside and wondered if she felt it, too. Could she feel the tremors that made him ache for her? Could she sense the growing strain on his restraint as he longed to reach out and comb his fingers through her rich dark hair?

She licked her lips in thought and the way the candlelight caught the gentle motion made him hunger for her kiss. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth as she worked through a new calculus problem and he longed to take those lips in his.

Her dark hair fell across one shoulder as she tilted her head toward him, exposing the pale cream of her neck, and he ached to run his fingers along the soft, sweet column of her neck, to trail kisses down her shoulders to her bosom. If he were a man, he might be so bold. As it was, he was content to sit forever in the library and allow her to torture him unknowingly with her delicate beauty. He thrilled with every question she asked. Delighted each time her chair moved nearer. Longed to pull her fully onto his lap and scatter the books far away as he kissed her mindlessly and endlessly, eternally.

He could not.

He would not.

So, for now, he would content himself with this unwitting torment. He would take pleasure in this pain. He would stay.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N I've taken a great deal of liberty with this one. Disney canon suggests The Beast's name is Adam, but it's never mentioned in the movie and was only given as a trivia answer. Adam isn't a very French name, and certainly not one that would have been given a 17th or 18th century French prince. So I've taken some liberty to explain it a bit, while keeping to accepted Disney canon. Likewise, Belle wouldn't have been a common French name for a girl of that era. So, again, I've taken some liberties. I hope you'll forgive and accept them._

 _This chapter comes from Belle's perspective as she struggles with her growing love for The Beast._

* * *

Belle had never felt more free in all her life. She struggled daily to remember that she'd come here to find her father and stayed here as a willing prisoner. But while she missed her father, each day she felt less like a prisoner and more like a princess.

She had a great deal of education for a woman of her class. More than education than many women above her station even wished to achieve. Her father was open-minded and cherished the memory of her mother by educating her as much as he might have educated a son. Still, she was ever cognizant of the fact that she was a woman, and the more she learned, the less likely she would ever be to find a husband.

Until now.

How odd that the one man who could accept her was the one who had been cursed to look like a Beast. But she loved his heart, and she loved his smile. She loved his voice and the tender way he spoke to her. And she knew that he loved her. She was not odd with him. He accepted her as she was. She could truly be happy here. She could be herself. She could be everything she ever wanted to be.

Belle watched the firelight flicker off her Prince's face and imagined for just a moment that his face was covered in a beard and not fur. She caught and held his blue eyes and saw the humanity in his soul. The fangs faded away and, for a moment, he was a man in her eyes. Truly a man. He was tender and beautiful. Her breath hitched and she reached out to cup his cheek before she realized what she was doing.

His hand caught and held hers, and for a long moment they stared at each other in silence. She knew the hour was late, but she could not bring herself to break the moment. Warmth flooded her and she wanted him, longed for him in a way she knew she should not!

He had taken her to Paris earlier in the day – not on purpose. He had shown her the enchanted book left for him by the Enchantress. They returned to the Paris of her youth and she managed to put together the pieces of her childhood, to learn why her father had left with her.

Her hand dropped and she gazed at the fire.

"It occurs to me," she whispered. "I don't know your name. The servants call you Master. And I've simply avoided calling you anything at all. In my mind I call you 'prince', as I assume that is your title?"

The Beast started. She was perceptive.

"Yes," he answered the second part of her query. "My title was that of Prince."

"Prince du sang, or aristocratic prince?" She questioned, asking whether he was a royal prince, or whether his title was merely an aristocratic one.

"Merely an aristocrat. A rich brat born to rich parents who owned this land as a fiefdom for generations upon generations." Belle moved closer, and impulsively allowed herself to lay her head upon the massive shoulder of her prince.

"And what did your parents call you?" She asked, returning to her original question. He snorted, and she felt the rich rumble of it reverberate through his chest.

"My father had me baptized Jean-Paul Pierre Robert Éduoard Honoré." Belle smiled in spite of herself!

"What a mouthful!" She declared. He snorted and rolled his eyes.

"My mother called me Adam." Belle leaned back and smoothed the hair from his blue eyes.

"Adam," she repeated. "It suits you. I like it." She looked deep into his eyes before dropping her head back to his shoulder where she could hear the soothing rumble of his heartbeat. "Adam," she whispered again. She picked up his hand and absently began to stroke his claws, closing her eyes and imagining them as fingers. "I will call you Adam, then, if I may. It's much better than Beast, and far less of a mouthful than Jean-Paul Pierre…" she paused. "Robert…?" She paused again, trying to remember.

"Éduoard Honoré," Adam finished, wryly. Belle smiled.

"I was baptized Jeanne Marie Anne. My father always called me Belle. I've never been called anything else," Belle told Adam softly. Adam reached his free hand out and laid it in her soft hair. Belle wasn't sure, but she thought his heart picked up as he tenderly stroked the soft tendrils. Gooseflesh prickled on her arms at the sensation and a wholly unfamiliar fire began a slow burn low in her belly. She instinctively moved closer to him.

"Belle," he whispered. "For you are that. Always."


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Wow, thank you so much for the amazing reviews. They've been so positive and encouraging! To answer a few questions – yes, I will be continuing the story until it is finished. This means at least the final kiss in the ballroom after the Beast becomes human again. I also have a few ideas floating around for after he becomes human. However, I may continue those ideas in a separate story. There is one very distinctly M-rated chapter which I adore, but which I cannot include because I don't want to disappoint my readers by changing ratings mid-story. I've gone back and re-read and noticed a few small spelling errors, so I'll be fixing those. I've never published on here before, so I don't know if doing that affects the reviews left on those chapters. But please, keep the reviews coming. I am continuing to write. I'm going to see the movie (again) in a few hours, after which I'll be writing more and more for you._

 _Now, without further ado, I give you Chapter Nine, which is short and meant to tide you over until I get back from my next BatB fix._

* * *

The hour was late. Or possibly early. The Beast lay in his bed and fingered the soft mouchoir en lin that Belle had left behind when she'd tended his wounds so many months ago. It still smelled of her. Of honey and jasmine and sun and just Belle. By all the ancient gods he loved her. Loved her so deeply and dearly he ached with it.

"Adam," he whispered to himself, recalling how sweet his childhood name sounded from her lips. He hadn't been called that in years. He was Majesty, Master, Highness, My Lord, and Sir. Even in rare moments of affection, he was Jean-Paul to his father. Young Master to his teachers. My Lord to nearly everyone else. In the years since the curse, he had lost his name. He had allowed himself to become so near to an animal that he'd forgotten the meaning of names. Now, he was learning the taste of love on his lips as he spoke hers in the darkness.

"Belle," he whispered. "Mon petite Belle. My Beauty. My love." He raised the mouchoir to his nostrils and delighted in the fragrance of her as his heart soared at the memory of her delicate frame curled against him - such tender trust! She touched him and did not recoil. Did not pull back from him when at last he screwed his courage and placed his hand on her dark hair. Soft as silk – no, softer! It warmed his soul. And now, only 5 petals remained. Hope and regret warred in his soul.

He knew he was cursed. He regretted not for himself, but for his dear servants. Dearer now to him than ever, as he realized the depth of their losses. For so long he had wallowed in his own misery, he had not stopped to look outside of himself. These had been men and women, too. They loved, too. Their only crime, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Poor little Chip, who may never grow up.

He would make it right for them, he vowed. He had to. Perhaps, when the last petal fell, they would be set free and only he would remain? Or he would declare his love for her. Somehow. If he were not such a wretched coward.

* * *

 _A/N: Translation: mouchoir en lin is French for linen handkerchief._


	10. Chapter 10

Adam heard the door to his chambers creak softly as it opened. He was awake. He hadn't slept that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt her in his arms, and the sensation was maddening and thrilling. Still, it was far too early to wake the servants from their slumber, so he sat in bed as the first pink rays peeked over the horizon.

He looked up from the book he'd long since given up on reading and was shocked to find Belle standing in the doorframe.

Her feet were bare and her shoulders covered in only a thin robe. He started up from his bed with a leap, glad he had remained clad in his soft breeches and shirt.

"Belle," he declared softly, hoping not to wake anyone. "Are you well?" He was by her in an instant and grasped her hand in his. She shivered in the morning chill and pulled her robe closer

"No, I…" She paused awkwardly and then turned as though to leave, the lovely pink of her cheek brightening to match the early morning sky. Adam felt suddenly foolish, standing there in his breeches, a beast pretending to be a man. Dropping her hand, he ran his fingers awkwardly through his long mane. "I couldn't sleep," she said in a rush. "I hadn't meant to wake you up. I thought you might have been awake. I didn't think at all really. I'll leave you to your rest." Adam reached back for her again.

"I was awake. I was reading. Come," he said impulsively. "You look cold. Come sit with me where it is warm. We can tell each other stories before breakfast." This was utterly and completely foolish of him. But she did. With a duck of her head and a soft smile on her lips, she moved with him towards the large gilt-framed canopy bed. For a moment, he was sure she would deny and leave. Under normal circumstances, surrounded by the pomp of a full court, this would be utterly improper. Rumours would abound and her dear and tender reputation would be utterly ruined. His, of course, would remain ever intact. Men were expected to be such lecherous creatures. But women were to be pure. To even be seen at the door of the prince's bedchamber would make her unmarriageable. He had never cared about such things before. He found himself caring now. He cared deeply now.

But here, alone in their castle – and it truly was theirs now in his eyes – there was only Belle and Adam. Friends. Dearest friends. There were no courtiers to judge. No loose lips to spread rumours. No reputations to uphold. There was warmth here. Companionship. If it were not for the dear servants in his castle, Adam realized he could be content to live his life like this. He no longer needed the spell to be broken for himself. Sometimes he was still a beast in his own eyes. He would be honest with himself. Sometimes, old thoughts crept past the healing balm she had so tenderly applied to his soul. Sometimes the scars of the past still made themselves known. But here, in the chill of the morning air, in pillows and blankets and books, when they were just Belle and Adam, when all the servants slept – he was happy here.

Belle did not move beside him as he had hoped, but sat at the foot of the bed, tucking her feet under the thick coverlet. Adam did not ask her for more. He simply delighted in her presence, and let the sweet fragrance of her fill the room. Surely he dreamt all this? Perhaps the wolves had really finished him and all these months had been purgatory – the sweetest sort of hellish heaven. Or heavenish hell? He could not decide. He did not dwell on it. He took the warmest pillow from where he had rested and laid it behind Belle, and then wrapped her in his own heavy robe.

"Be warm," he smiled. The morning sun cast a delicate glow behind her features and for just a moment she looked for all the world like a faerie. Sweet and angelic. Delicate and beautiful! He was about to ask her preference for morning literature when the book at the top of the stack caught his eye. He'd never believed in fate before. But then, he'd also never believed in magic or cursed roses or enchantresses.

"May I read to you this morning?" He asked softly. And Belle nodded in assent. "The Faerie Queene," he began…


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Song to Bacchus, by John Fletcher (mid-16_ _th_ _cent)_

* * *

Belle stood in the massive, glittering ballroom. The afternoon sun glittered through the windows. Adam watched in admiration as she pulled her latest library find from her pocket and began whispering the words from the page.

 _God Lyaeus, ever young,_  
 _Ever honored, ever sung_  
 _Stained with blood of lusty grapes,_  
 _In a thousand lusty shapes,_  
 _Dance upon the mazer's brim,_  
 _In the crimson liquor swim;_  
 _From thy plenteous hand divine_  
 _Let a river run with wine;_  
 _God of youth, let this day here_  
 _Enter neither care nor fear!_

He listened as she read the words, softly, meant only for her own ears. He did not mean to spy on her, but could not make himself break the magic of her soft words. Still, even as she read them, he pictured Belle, clad in the formal dress of a French princess, dancing in this ballroom. The image delighted him – possibly more than it ought to have. He moved forward before he could stop himself, and cleared his throat to announce himself.

Belle let out a slight squeak as she slammed the book shut. Her cheeks flamed brilliantly, and Adam was reminded again that all these things he'd taken for granted were so new to her. Perhaps that was the most risqué thing she'd ever read? He very consciously and deliberately threw further thoughts of that sort into a dark prison in his mind and slammed the door shut on them.

"I apologize, dear Belle," he said softly. "I did not mean to intrude." He decided to put her at ease by pretending he had not overheard the poem. It was nothing to him, but he saw her hands tremble as she shoved the book into her pocket. "I was merely passing by and saw you in here." He paused to look around the grand ballroom. "I have not been in this room in years."

He relaxed as he saw Belle's tension ease. She smiled and the brilliant blush on her cheeks faded. She looked around at the chandeliers and many gilded buttresses. Adam felt suddenly shy of the excess, but Belle just smiled at him.

"It is, indeed, a beautiful room!" she agreed.

"We should have a dance tonight!" he declared impulsively! He did not, ever, not in a thousand years, expect her to say yes. But Belle whirled towards him as though he had offered her the finest treasure. For one heart-stopping moment, he thought she might throw herself into his arms. But she did not.

The smile that brightened her face outstripped the sun, outshone the gold and the chandeliers and all the finery in the room. The apple blossom pink of her cheeks made him forget everything else.

"Oh! We should!" She agreed with enthusiasm! "Yes! Yes, we should!" She grabbed both his hands in both of hers and held them for a moment. Adam delighted in her smile and warm enthusiasm.

As Belle raced from the room so Mme Garderobe could prepare a dress for her for this evening, the warmth fled the room with her. Adam felt suddenly cold and sick all over.

Good God what had he done? She just agreed to dance with him. Dancing meant… well, it meant dancing! He had not danced in years. Did he even remember how?

Dancing meant touching! His hands would be on her waist and… oh, _mon dieu_! He turned and gripped the doorframe for support.

What had he just done?


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: We're getting very close to the dance, after which things wrap up fairly swiftly (between Belle and The Beast) in the movie. But don't worry, I have chapters 13 through 20 sketched out._

* * *

Belle had spent weeks combing the library. She knew nothing of magic or curses. If the problem were scientific, she felt certain she could unravel it. If it were mathematic, she was certain she could solve it. But magic was, by its very definition, unknowable. This was not a thing she could solve on her own. She'd read back as far as she could, until the French became something…else, something older, and she could no longer understand it. She read tales of magic and tragedy, of curses and woe. She read tales of men turned to beasts. But nothing of how to turn them BACK again. And nowhere in all the library could she find anything of enchanted tea kettles or candelabras or mantle clocks. It was utterly and completely frustrating.

But she'd found literature beyond her imagining. She was reading one such work – a poem of the Greek god Bacchus – when the prince found her in the ballroom.

She was horrified. Embarrassed almost beyond speech. Good god, she hoped he hadn't heard her reading aloud, letting the words trip from her tongue like wine. Letting herself taste them as they thrilled and warmed her. The poem itself was innocuous enough, but she'd been allowing her mind to wander freely, to delicious places it had never dared wander before - to fields with the nymphs and dryads and maenads. Things a girl ought not to dream of – but things she seemed free to think on here in her castle. But he seemed oblivious to her embarrassment, and so she put away her thoughts, and tried to put her mind away from the way his muscles rippled under his brocade coat.

She could feel her cheeks flame as he stepped nearer. Her mind had run so delightfully wild, and now he was so close, the masculine scent of him filling her with thoughts she'd never, ever, ever dared have before.

Good holy mother of god, what was WRONG with her! She almost bolted from the room! Her hands shook as she tried to hide the book in her pocket.

It was nothing. Only a book. He wouldn't care! She KNEW he wouldn't care. So why did she feel this way? Her mind tangled and jumbled and twisted upon itself and she blinked and tried to force words out. Something. Good lord, anything, woman! Say anything! She was utterly relieved when he spoke first.

"I apologize, dear Belle," His voice was deep and rich and masculine and beautiful. She took a shaky breath and smiled. "I did not mean to intrude," the gentleness of his voice began to set her at ease. It always did. When he spoke, it was so easy to remember again that he was a man under the face of the Beast. He was just Adam, gentle and quiet. She saw him look around. "I have not been in this room for years," he told her.

She looked around, seeing the beauty and wonder of it. It was incredible.

"It is, indeed, a beautiful room," she agreed, far more at ease now.

"We should have a dance tonight," he suggested with a smile. Belle felt giddy and dizzy at once. Dancing! How lovely. How utterly and completely enchanting.

"We should!" She agreed. He was so rarely enthusiastic and the idea seemed to make him so very, very happy. She took his hands impulsively in her own. "Yes, we really should." Hadn't they spoken about the fun the servants seemed to have so easily? Shouldn't they, too, have such fun together?

And anyway, she had begun to alight on an idea. It might not be a very good idea. But it was an idea, and it might even work.

If she could convince him to let her go, perhaps she could find this enchantress. Perhaps she could make the book take her to where the enchantress lived?

But she would have to be free. Truly free. The enchantress might not believe he had changed if she wasn't. But if she was… if she could convince her that he had changed… Maybe she could convince the witch to set him free?

Somehow.

She raced off to find Mme Garderobe, and as she reached her bedchamber, another thought hit her. Hard.

Dancing! Dancing meant… well, it meant dancing. What a horrid idea! What a terrible, awful, HORRIBLE idea! She would step on his toes and make a fool of herself! Dancing meant touching. His hands, they would be on her waist, hers would be on his chest, in his hair. He might dip her. Belle suddenly gripped the doorframe for support. What had she just agreed to? What had she just done?


	13. Chapter 13

The Beast stood at the top of the staircase, gazing across at the delicate beauty, clad in sunshine and gold. His own blue brocade and velvet coat stretched tightly across his heavy frame. It made him feel both more and less human at once. It felt nothing like the costumes he wore in the excesses of his youth, though the fashion was still similar. Now, he had a great deal more muscle, not to mention fur, to account for. But she looked back at him and, as their eyes met, all his insecurities melted away.

He was no longer a beast nor a prince. He was just Adam again, whole and complete. He was alive, and joy and hope filled his heart like he had never imagined possible.

Tonight.

He would set free and ask her to stay. Tonight.

Tonight, he would take her in his arms and they would dance la belle danse, perhaps a minuet or an allemande. His mouth went dry as Belle began to descend the staircase toward him, and he followed.

The servants had tried to recreate the look of past balls. It had been a disaster. Plumette had attended him with powder pots and rouge. He looked more beastly than before, and he wondered as he had caught sight of his garish face in the mirror, if he'd ever been as handsome as he had pleased himself to think he was. Had women come to him because of his face or because of his wealth? He strongly suspected the latter. He knew he'd been handsome enough. Many of his equals were pockmarked, or worse. Balding from syphilis and other diseases of the whorehouses. He'd been careful to be more discriminating in his bedmates, and so had spared himself that rotten fate.

Perhaps he deserved that more than this. More than Belle. A knot formed in his gut as she laid her arm atop his. He truly did not deserve her. She was all that was pure and lovely in the world. Her intelligence was unmatched, even among men. She truly outshone the sun, brighter than the stars in the heavens. She could inspire the most stalwart heart to write books of poetry. She was all that was good. He truly did not deserve her.

By the grace of God, though, he wanted her. Longed for her in a way he had never known. He wished to make her happy. He would sacrifice his very soul to see her lovely smile and to touch the pink bloom of spring on her cheeks. To smell the sweetness of honey and jasmine in her hair.

They reached the ballroom then, and he escorted her inside. His heart hammered as she bowed low. He dipped elegantly – as elegantly as he could – and swallowed as he saw the pale beauty of her shoulders and décolletage. Her hands reached for his, and they began with an allemande, moving into a waltz. His hands touched hers lightly first, but followed her rhythm as she moved closer.

His breath caught as her hands trailed up his shoulders to his hair. They spun and glided gloriously around the room, and everything faded, even the music. They were just Adam and Belle. He lifted her, feeling her tiny waist in his hands, thrilling in the delight of being permitted such closeness. If she would stay, they would dance like this every night! His hands reached for her soft, silken tresses and he dipped her low. His face came within a hairsbreadth of hers. He could feel the soft warmth of her breath against his face. He could kiss her.

Caught in his arms like this, she was utterly at his mercy. He could kiss her and beg her to stay of her own free will. He could set her free and ask her to marry him all at once. But that, he knew, was not how such things should be done. He was certain that Belle and her delicate, pink, unpainted lips had never before been kissed. Such a thing should be cherished, not forced.

She was, still and always, a woman who would not be, SHOULD not be claimed. She was bold enough, he knew, to kiss him when she felt ready. And so he lifted her instead and set her on her feet.

He would not kiss her. Not tonight.

He would cherish her. Protect her. Love her. Honor her. Respect her.

He would set her free.

And then he would beg her to stay.


	14. Chapter 14

Adam's heart pounded thunderously in his mighty chest. He thought he might groan aloud with the agony and ecstasy of it. He wondered that she could not hear it, here on the balcony, in the still night air.

Cogsworth had warned him he would feel slightly nauseous when the time was righ _t._ Good god, he was right. He turned away to face the stars before he lost his nerve.

"It is foolish, I suppose," his words tumbled out in a rush, before his cowardly heart could stop him. "To think that someone like you might care for someone like me." Belle smiled, and the sight of it sent Adam's heart tripping over itself anew, and then stopped as she answered.

"I don't know," she replied sweetly. His eyes widened. Really? Truly? His heart began its rapid pace again, and he held back from rushing to hold her hand and pull her to him, reminding himself that it was not a declaration of love on her part, but merely an acknowledgement that she was not thoroughly miserable.

"Really," he could not help but ask. "You think you could," he paused. He wanted to ask if she could love him. Instead he finished with, "could be happy here?" She shrugged in her tender way.

"Can anyone be truly happy when they are not free?" she asked. Adam's heart felt suddenly like a stone in his chest. Foolish, foolish beast, he chided himself.

"My father taught me how to dance." Belle changed the subject. "I used to step on his toes." She smiled ruefully at the memory, and there was no missing the sadness and loss in her eyes. In that moment, Beast felt like the horrible monster he was. He had kidnapped this beautiful girl and kept her locked in his gilded tower. A bird in a gilded cage still lives in a cage. A prison is a prison, no matter how pretty. He seized on the moment. He would not tell her he loved her. Not until she was free.

"You must miss him," he said softly. Belle looked up at him, the joy of the dance gone from her eyes, and her heart miles away – in the village with her father. "Would you like to see him again?" he offered. There was no missing the brilliance of tears she refused to shed.

"Really?" she asked. Excitement and enthusiasm back in her voice. He took her hand and led her to the enchanted mirror.

"This mirror," he told her, "will show you anything you want to see." He handed it to her, and her soft hand brushed his lightly as she took it from him.

"I would like to see my father, please," she told the mirror. Adam could not help but smile softly. Even now, sweet Belle, said please to the mirror and thanked the furniture. The mood shifted in a moment. Her face fell and he could see not her father, but the glare of torches in the mirror.

"What are they doing to him?" she demanded. "They are hurting him!" She looked at Adam in desperation. "He is in trouble!"

Tears welled in his heart and a lump formed in his throat. Her happiness superseded all. Her pleasure was more important to him now than anything else. He could not free his servants. They would die here, with him. They would turn cold as time resumed. He shut his eyes against that pain. They loved her, too. He knew that. She mattered most, now.

Now was not the time to extract promises of returning. Now was not the time to declare himself. It would be selfish. Conditionally free was not free at all. The love he felt for her ran too deeply.

"You must go to him!" He declared. Belle blinked at him. "You are free," he told her. In truth, she'd always been free. She'd been free since the day she saved his life from the wolves. In that moment, she could have left and he knew he would not have run after her. She could have gone at any moment and he would not have forced her return. He was so utterly selfish for not having told her sooner.

Belle handed the mirror back to him. His closed his hands around it, and around hers.

"No," he told her. "Keep it." He tried hard to smile, to hide the torment inside. "So you always have a way to look back and remember me." Belle paused, and he wondered what she was thinking. But with a rush of her skirts, she turned and fled, and all the sunshine and warmth fled the castle with her.

Cogsworth came in, then, and Adam felt the splinters of his heart begin to crack. He'd given hope to one. Would they understand? They'd sacrificed so much. Would they give this for her? He swallowed the sorrow, buried it deep inside himself. She would always be a part of him. She'd changed him irrevocably. For the better. He was a better man because of her. Though she was gone, a part of her would always stay with him.

"My Belle," he whispered, as he watched the brilliant yellow of her skirt fly through the courtyard, through the gate, into the woods, and disappear. "I love you."

Sorrow consumed him, then. Sorrow and love. Love and regret. Regret and hope. Hope that she might, even now, return to him. Would it be too late? Did she yet love him? Would she yet stay?


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: There a few more chapters in this story. Thank you all so much for your very, very kind reviews. They've kept me writing. To answer some small questions that I've gotten by private message. I will be continuing post-transformation. Most of that story will be in a separate fic, which I've already started, but have not posted. It's an M-rated fic called "Stay the Night". Stay tuned._

* * *

Even as he said it, Belle realized the truth. She had been free for many months. More free than she had ever been in the small village. More free than she had ever known. Happier than she had any right to be.

She gripped the mirror tightly in her hands. A thousand thoughts ran through her head, and none of them could make their way to her mouth. Nothing coherent would come out.

She wanted to throw herself in his arms, to kiss his full lips, still so human despite the rest of his face. She wanted to thank him. She wanted to promise her return. She wanted to profess her love for him. Her undying affection. She wanted to thank him for these months, these wonderful happy months, where she had been more free than she had ever been in the small town of Villeneuve.

There was so much to say, and no words to say it, and no time to say it. She hoped he could see the words in her eyes – the words her mouth could not form, as she picked up her skirts and fled from the room.

 _I'll return_ , she swore to herself. _I'll come back! I'll always come back to you, my beast, my prince, my Adam. I love you! Oh god, I love you! I need you! Like the earth needs the sun, I need you! I'll come back! I promise I will!_

Belle raced from the castle to find Phillipe, her heart and mind a tangle of thoughts. Even as she raced through the dark woods, the wolves howling and nipping at her heels, she forced her thoughts to some semblance of order. Her father needed her. She would go to him. She would bring him to the castle. The Beast – her beast, her prince, her Adam, would protect them both. And if all else failed, if she could not break the spell, she would return and marry her prince. Her beastly prince. Her Adam. Her love.

Belle's breath caught in her throat as the blinding simplicity hit her like the weight of a storm.

 _Jesu maria!_ What a fool! What a simpleton! She almost wept with the simplicity of it! She loved him! Why! Oh Christ and angels! Why had she not told him! Was that not all the endings of all the faery tales she had ever read? There was no princess in a tower, but a prince! Her prince! Oh, holy mother! How had she not seen it?

Belle urged Phillipe faster. There were two lives to save, now. Two hourglasses competed against each other. Two loves of equal import weighed on her heart! A father and a prince! She could have them both!

"Faster, Phillipe", she cried. The wind whipped her hair, stinging her cheeks. The cold or the wind or the sorrow or the relief caused tears to spring to her eyes.

She loved him! Dear, sweet Adam! Dearest Adam with his full lips and blue eyes! Dearest prince! Would that she had told him sooner! She would return as swiftly as the wind, with her father, and she would kiss him. Would the kiss of a peasant girl break the enchantment? If it was true love? The truest love that ever was?

And she would stay! For all eternity, she would stay!


	16. Chapter 16

Belle sat caged with her father as the villagers railed against the cruel beast in the castle. She wanted to weep and scream and fight and rage against the injustice. They did not see that they were being led by the true beast. Gaston in his hate and ignorance and lust was worse than any prince.

She was called back into the moment by her father's gentle voice.

"My dear girl," he questioned softly. "However did you escape?" She smiled and took her father's hands.

"I didn't escape, Papa. He let me go!"

"That horrible monster?" Her father looked confused. Of course he would be. All he knew of the beast were those last terrible moments they'd spent together. Being called a thief, being dragged away from her, being thrown from the castle, being forced to leave being his most precious child – his Belle – all he had in the world. How he must have suffered, Belle realized with regret.

"He's not a monster," she tried to reassure him. She sought for a way to make him understand. How could she make her dear papa understand the true depths of love her dear beast was capable of? How could she make him see the kindness and selflessness of her prince? As she smoothed her dress, her hand fell across the small rose-shaped rattle that she had carried with her ever since that night in Paris. She pulled it from her pocket and handed it to her father. His eyes widened in surprise as he took it from her.

"Where ever did you get this?" He asked. She could see the shimmer of unshed tears, of heartache and regret, of lost love. She knew, now, some small echo of how he felt. She understood that deep ache of loss. The emptiness that could never be filled by another.

Belle and her father spoke of Paris and her dear Maman. They spoke of her love for the Beast. They spoke of regret and loss. Her Papa squared his shoulders and declared that she must get to him and warn him. He peered through the barred window.

"I suppose," he mused, "that I could pick this lock." He narrowed his eyes in consideration. If only I had something sharp. And long." Belle was a step ahead, as always, her brilliant mind having seen the answer even as her father spoke. As the words left his mouth, a long hairpin was loosed from her delicate half up-do and she handed it to him wordlessly. He nodded in approval and admiration.

It was a moment's work to pick the lock, and Belle raced towards Phillipe. Even as she ran through the now empty streets to her horse, she rid herself of the cumbersome yellow ball gown. It was lovely, exquisite, and utterly cumbersome. She would ride faster without it. She had to get to her prince. Her father would follow when he could. She had to trust him, now. He was safe. And now the safety of the one she loved mattered most.

The air felt different on her return trip. There were no racing thoughts, no plans. She no longer cared if her prince remained a beast forever, so long as he lived. Dear god, he had to live. And so she urged Phillipe faster, racing the wind, the clock, the sky, and the raindrops that had begun to fall from the starless night.

 _My love_ , she thought desperately. _My Adam. I'm coming! Please, please, fight for me! I'm coming. They don't speak for me! Have hope!_

Anger and fury fueled her now. Anger at the thought of what Gaston in his petty smallminded jealousy might say. Fury in the knowledge that pitchforks were not needed to hurt her tender-hearted Beast. Words wounded deeper than any sword. Could she get there in time? Could she prove her love? Would he believe her, even now? Would he believe she had not meant for this to happen?

Belle wanted to rail against the villagers battling against the enchanted servants, but raced past them. The servants were holding the castle well. It was Adam who mattered. If the enchantment could yet be broken, they would all see the truth! They would see his gentle and beautiful soul! There would be no cause to fight.

She could hear Gaston's ugly words ringing out in the cold night air. Words that hit her soul like bullets. _Belle sent me_ , he was claiming. Such ugly lies! She wanted to scream at him. She pushed herself faster up the shallow, slippery steps of the turret to the parapet beyond. Even as she reached the top, she heard the harsh cold snap of a flintlock.

She could not stop the cry that came from her throat as she saw the bullet strike her prince just as she reached the window. Before he could reload, Belle quietly stole his second pistol and his gunpowder from his belt. Gaston whirled on her in fury as she snapped the wooden barrel in two and tossed it and the gunpowder aside.

Her eyes met Adam's then, all the hope and love and longing pouring from her heart into her words as she cried out to him. The sadness and pain his face broke her heart, whether from the bullet wound or the perceived betrayal she did not know.

"I didn't send him! You have to believe me!" she cried over the whipping wind and rain. She could see the moment that her words caught not just his ears but his heart. He knew. He knew the truth. He knew she loved him. He knew she came back for him.

Gaston let out a bellow of resentful rage as he leapt onto the parapet and began racing to meet the Beast.

"Do you think she could ever love you?" He asked snidely. "BEAST?"

In that moment, Belle could see the remnants of the shackles fall from Adam's soul as he leapt forward to meet the challenge.

"I! am NOT! A BEAST!" He roared. They collided in battle. Adam could have won, could have thrown Gaston from the parapet. He would have been justified, too. But his gentler nature won, and he would not take the life of this man. This small, petty man, who so easily could have been himself had Belle not changed him so much. Far worse than death would be to let this small man live his small life with his smallmindedness, never knowing how great the world could be when one loved and was loved in return.

Belle watched as he prepared to jump, gasping in horror at the great divide between them. It was too far. Would he fall to his death even as she had returned to him?

Her prince did not fall, though, still beastly as he was. His powerful legs capable of jumping further than she had imagined. But as Adam reached for her, Belle did not see Gaston, his face contorted in hideous, bitter acrimony, raise his pistol and fire his last shot.

Adam fell forward into her arms, crumbling like the castle around them.

Belle did not see the parapet crumble or Gaston fall to his death, though she vaguely heard his yell. All she saw and all she heard was the laboured breathing of her dear and beloved Beast, her prince, as he lay on the stone floor.


	17. Chapter 17

Adam had felt the sharp sting of the bullet pierce his flesh, but the wound was nothing compared with the agony of that brief moment when he believed – truly believed – that his dear Belle had betrayed him. In that moment, he gazed down from the top of the tower on which he stood and considered throwing himself into the black depths.

But as fast as the thought had come, it vanished. He would not so easily be defeated. And then had come her piercing cry, breaking through his distress.

Now, he lay on the cold stone floor, the chill seeping through his thick hide. Belle's lovely sunshine face, marred by tears, soared over him. She cupped his broad face in her hands as she spoke softly over the rain. The sorrow in her voice broke his heart anew. He lifted his hand and brushed one lock of hair from her cheek.

"Belle," he said weakly. "You came back." Her smile was brave but failed to hide her pain and sorrow.

"I will always come back!" she declared, cradling him gently, stroking his hair. It was too late, he knew.

"I'm afraid it is my turn to leave now," he whispered, as he felt the darkness closing in at the edges of his vision. He struggled to hang on. He needed to see her, to comfort her. The agony in her eyes was more painful to him than a hundred bullets.

"No!" she answered. "Don't talk like that! You'll be ok." It was a lie and they both knew it, but what a beautiful lie. He could almost believe it in that moment. He would be well and whole and human again. They would marry and have children and live the sort of happily ever after one only reads about in faery tales.

He struggled to speak. There was still so much to say. How much he loved her. How greatly his life had changed because of her. How dear she was to him, and how much he hoped happiness for her. He did not want her to despair of him, for he did not despair of himself. The world would go on, never knowing that he had been. He wished her strength and peace and love. He wished she would find some man, some human man to marry. He wished that whomever she married would cherish her as he did, would encourage her brilliant mind and let her learn. A mind such as hers should not be caged in a kitchen, but should be set free to change the world.

Dearest, sweetest Belle.

Coldness and darkness began to engulf him then. The shadows that crept at the corners of his vision overtook him. Darkness claimed him then, and cold. It was so cold. It began from the outside and worked its way in, like the long tendrils of a fog. He would fight it. He would pour all of himself into this final battle, but there was none of himself left.

Death did not feel like he expected it would. There was no fear, only sadness and darkness. There was serenity in death, though. A strange silence. He did not want to die, but there was yet a peace in this moment. For all of the sadness of leaving Belle behind, she had made it all worth living. He had such regrets. So much he would change if he could. How he wished he could set her free one last time, set her free from the sorrow that he could see in her eyes.

There was darkness, then. Darkness and cold.

And then there was light. Warmth. Brilliant, heavenly warmth, which bathed him in sunshine and cloaked him in warmth.


	18. Chapter 18

Belle bent over the lifeless body of her dear, precious beast. Her beloved prince. His eyes stared beyond her, dull and sightless, the light that made them so beautiful having been extinguished. The agony that ripped through her made her want to roar with her own animalistic cry of pain and fury. She would beat her chest at the universe and rail against the injustice of it.

"Come back," she cried. The tears that flowed freely down her cheeks mingling with the rain. She cradled his head and kissed him then, closing his sightless eyes with her thumbs. She kissed his cheeks and his full lips. "I love you."

Belle did not see the figure of Agathe moving through the room to the rose, so all-consuming was her grief. She saw nothing by the lifeless form of her beloved beast, still and quiet. There was only silence and rain and cold and emptiness. Belle thought it might consume her and a great wail of agony began to build as all the castle crumbled around her.

She did not see the light that began to form until it began to swirl around Adam, lifting him gently from her arms, even as a mother might lift a sleeping child. A great warmth began to fill the room and Belle watched in wonder as the Beast's form began to shift before her very eyes. His great paws smoothed out into hands and his claws into fingers. The fur on his mighty arms faded back, replaced by soft, pale skin. The horns disappeared into his hair – such a rich light brown, like some exotic spice – which fell around his broad and muscular shoulders. The great broad chest of a beast narrowed into the mighty muscular chest of a man, his waist tapered into very masculine hips, which formed very human legs.

The light did not fade so much as dissipate, flying off in all directions, healing the castle and all its inhabitants, even as it healed its master. Belle caught sight of Agathe, their eyes meeting in a brief moment. Agathe gave a slight nod of her head and a smile as she raised her hood and faded into the shadows.

Belle turned back to Adam, taking in the full human beauty of her prince. He was whole. He was alive and he was human and he was whole! And he was hers!

Belle and Adam stared at each other for a moment, then moved together, gripping each other in a passion as fierce as it was lovely. Her lips met his in tenderness and ethereal joy. His hands cupped her neck gently, and his fingers were in her hair. Belle held him closer, tighter, pressing her body nearer to him, heedless of her state of undress. She kissed him fervently and deeply, tangling her fingers in his long, beautiful hair. God, it was so soft.

His hands were on her back, pulling her even closer, as the raindrops faded to stardust and magic around them and even the castle was healed. Belle pulled back to gaze into his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes, still ever the same, unchanging, deep blue like pools of water, deep blue like the summer sky.

"It's you," she whispered. Her tears of sadness having passed into tears of joy – such ecstatic joy! Adam brushed his thumbs over the place where the tears were falling and smiled down at her.

"Yes," he laughed incredulously, and kissed her again! He was here and he was whole and he was hers!


	19. Chapter 19

Adam saw, at first, only the light. It shone around him in a brilliant glow of white and gold. The warmth that surrounded him like a soft blanket lifted him, and he hung, weightless, in the air. He could feel as his form began to shift and change.

Even as the shift from human to beast had been fraught with agonizing pain, this shift was soothing, even calming. He could feel his limbs elongate, the muscles lengthening and normalizing.

 _It is to be Heaven, then_ , he thought vaguely. _I thank thee, God, I do not deserve this great grace._ The horns faded from his skull and he felt the length of his own hair fall in warm waves on his shoulders. Human shoulders, now. The great beastly musculature of his animal self was gone, now, replaced with the form of a man.

The warm golden light that held him aloft set him gently down on his feet, and he stumbled slightly, unused to the weight of this new form. He was so used to the great, mighty weight of his Beast. These legs of a man felt strange and new to him, these hands seemed so foreign.

A figure stepped toward him, a face framed in light and beauty. It was an angel, he was sure. He blinked, trying to see the face, unsure of where he was or what he saw.

The light began to fade away and then dissipated, flying away from him. He became acutely aware of his surroundings. This was not heaven, but home. He was whole and it was not an angel who stood before him, but Belle.

She was in his arms, then, and he grasped her tightly to him. Her lips were on his, and he inhaled her like a man who had drowned, taking in air for the first time. He wondered at the feel of her in his arms. She had felt delightful when they danced, but this was incredible – so rare and sweet and beautiful!

He let his hands drift to her neck, to her hair, to her back, even as the rain faded away and stardust and magic surrounded them.

"It's you," she whispered, and tears filled her eyes. Such beautiful eyes should not be marred with tears. Oh, that he could kiss each tear away, he wished absently, as he stroked them with his thumb, even then marvelling at the strange and wonderful sensation of it.

"Yes," he laughed, and kissed her again!

Even as they kissed and laughed and tears of sorrow became tears of joy, something occurred to him.

"Belle," he whispered, as he held her tightly to his chest. "Wherever is your dress?"

She laughed, then, the sound of it as sweet as the first time he ever heard it.

"Somewhere near the fountain in Villeneuve! It was in the way and slowed me down and I needed to get to you." Suddenly her smile was gone. "They were going to kill you, Adam." She looked at him fiercely. "I never meant for any harm to come to you!"

Adam placed a finger on her lips.

"I know," he answered. They heard laughter trickle up from the courtyard, and the morning sun shone through the window, bathing them in its glorious light. There was much work to be done, but they might live happily ever after, after all.

 **The End.**

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 _Author's Note: Although I had originally intended to make this story a few chapters longer, I have decided to end it here, as this feels like a delightful, unforced place to end my fanfic, and it does dovetail very neatly into my m-rated sequel, Stay The Night._ **  
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 _Thank you all so very much for reading and for leaving such amazing reviews. It has been an absolute pleasure to write this piece._


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